


Pickle Daddy's Romp of Ruckus

by julysunicorn



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: F/M, Gherkin Father, Reader-Insert, Sexual Injury, Smut, haunted body pillow, winnebago sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28164633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julysunicorn/pseuds/julysunicorn
Summary: (MurdocXReader) You're finally here! You've worked hard and are about to step into Kong Studios to audition to be your favorite band's new permanent keyboardist. Will you get the job, or something a little different? Smuth. One-shot. My first time writing one of these. I don't think I'll do it again
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	Pickle Daddy's Romp of Ruckus

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do something different and wound up writing one of those characterXreader stories. tbh I'm not a fan of the genre but this sure was fun to write! The thing that always irked me about Xreader stories is that they're all sorta cookie cutter, girl meets boy they fall in love make disgusting sex etc... it was just too perfect I hated it. But isn't that what fanfiction is all about? Writing what you wish/thought should've happened? Letting your imagination and creativity run wild? And so that's what I did.
> 
> Disclaimer: Fat Albert is mentioned but I do not associate the character with his creepy creator... he's just a nice character and so I view him on his own merits. Great now I'm sad. Fcok. Also
> 
> I just realized this is my 23rd story. 23rd... and its for Gorillaz. Oh my Lord. This... the planets just aligned for this.

Pickle Daddy's Romp of Ruckus

Your palms sweating, you check the address on the slip of paper in your hands against the number on the dilapidated building in front of you. Yep, you'd reached Kong Studios. Couldn't doubt that anymore, no matter how bad you wanted to.

It wasn't that you didn't want to be here - in fact, it was a dream come true! You'd grown up listening to the Gorillaz and they were the ones that shaped your taste in music. If it hadn't been for all those car rides with your mom and her Gorillaz CDs, you wouldn't have pursued music as a career and become a relatively successful keyboardist - at least, in your hometown.

So when you found out your favorite band of all time was holding auditions for a permanent keyboardist, you hauled ass out to the UK to strut your stuff to your musical heroes.

The musical heroes you were so, so worried about disappointing.

Swallowing your fear, you reach out and ring the video doorbell to the studio. A few moments go by and you reach out to ring it again, when the screen above the button buzzes to life, revealing a familiar blue-haired man with pitch-black eyes.

"Oi, hello?" he says, his voice shaky.

You struggle to keep a Peanuts-style grin from spreading on your face. You never could figure out how Stuart Pot, AKA 2-D, could have such a lovely singing voice, but such an awkward speaking one. Feeling immediately ashamed, you clear your throat and say, "Uh, hi, my name is Y/N, I'm here for the audition?"

It takes him a moment to remember in the drug-fogged mess of his brain, but his eyes soon shoot wide. "Oh! Right! Hang on..."

The screen goes black and you hear all manner of din from within the building, from ducks quacking to cats yowling and 2-D shouting at whatever he was fighting with to get to the door, but he still manages to open it.

"Come on in," he says, and you enter, and immediately stop. It's a lot dirtier inside than you expected.

"Uh, heh heh, sorry 'bout the mess," 2-D says, rubbing the back of his neck, "but, hey, congrats! You passed the first test!"

" _First_ test?" you ask, confused. "Um... was it finding the place?"

"No," he explains, "it's not being scared off by the state of the studio. We've had five keyboardists run screaming after seeing the inside. _In a week._ "

" _Oh._ "

"Anyway, let's get you to the recording booth. I'll call the guys on the way."

* * *

In only a handful of minutes, you're under the gaze of each and every one of your musical idols. It's a lot more stressful than you imagined. And you'd done a _lot_ of imagining.

2-D, Russel, and Noodle all look fairly relaxed, but Murdoc - the powder keg of the group, who you're afraid of disappointing the most - looks tense as he sits in his chair, legs crossed. Like he just doesn't want to be here, it's a waste of his time. He hasn't said a single word to you yet, and still his behavior is putting you on edge.

"Alright, Y/N," says 2-D over the intercom, "could you give us a lil' demo?"

"S-Sure thing," you say, giving a thumbs-up but your hand is trembling. You hope they can't see from out there - you'd lost more job offers than you could count from obvious nervousness.

 _Don't worry about it,_ you tell yourself. _It's okay to be nervous. Heck, they're probably expecting you to be nervous. This is a big gig. They've got to understand._

You take a deep breath, and begin pressing out a little ditty you'd written yourself. It's quite simple, which at first takes the band by surprise, then you reveal the true purpose for its simplicity: so you can divide your attention between the keys and your body.

You swing your ass in the air to the beat, letting your music travel through your body. Music had always been a sensational experience for you - you remembered how your classmates used to roll their eyes when your high school music teacher said to let the music flow through your being, thinking it corny, but you'd understood it perfectly. The expression. The emotion. The freedom. Music was self-expression, as natural for you as speaking.

"Aoh!" you cry out, overcome with joy.

The others are enraptured by your performance. They've never seen someone enjoy music this much! Sure, it's their life's work, but this young woman before them seemed to live and breathe it. That if you cut her, she'd bleed notes.

"Wow. She's pretty good," said Russel quietly, almost afraid to talk over the performance.

But one person didn't seem to feel the same way. Suddenly, Murdoc shot up and shouted, "Alright, that's enough! I've seen all I want of this," before stomping out of the booth.

What happened?! Everything seemed to be going so well... "Did... Did I do something wrong?" you say after you hear the door slam.

"No, you did wonderful," said 2-D. "Don't let him get to you. He's horrible to most people."

"Yeah..." you say, but despite knowing of Murdoc's temperament, his shunning of you still hurts. 2-D tells you to leave your keyboard for a moment and come outside, and though you nod, you have to fight to keep the tears from showing.

* * *

"Don't pay him any mind," 2-D tells you as he hands you a soda from their vending machine... because for some reason they have a vending machine in their own house. "You did really great in there."

"It's true!" Noodle chirps from beside you. "You've got a lot of talent! I loved it!"

"Thank you," you say shyly, and take a sip of the soda. Mmm, Dr. Pepper. Still, despite the sweet sentiments of the band and the sweetness of your drink, you can't shake the bitter feeling of the failure you suffered before Murdoc. "So... does this mean I don't get the job?" you force yourself to ask, as if that's all that's on your mind.

"Not in my book," says 2-D. "You may be a little self-conscious, but your schtick in the booth was grand. You sounded the best out of everyone we managed to bring in."

"But that was only three people," Russel points out.

2-D glares at him and says through gritted teeth, " _No, it was more than that._ "

"Don't listen to him, Y/N," Russel says as he turns his gaze to you. "He's got brain damage."

"Oi! Just 'cause my noggin's a tad scrambled don't mean I'm stupid!" 2-D snaps. "At least _I've_ got a little something called _tact,_ you hulking brute!"

"I'm gonna _really_ empty your eyesockets for saying that, you blue-haired twig!" Russel shouts, and before you know it, the two are tangled in a dust ball of fury and harsh language.

You stare at the scene for a few moments before asking Noodle, "Does this happen often?"

"Not really," she answers, "but when it does, it's _bad._ We should probably go before Russel throws the table or something."

As you get up, you see a flash of green from the hallway. Looking up, you catch sight of Murdoc, who is a little surprised when he sees you've noticed him, but quickly regains his aloof demeanor.

"Hey, Y/N," he calls over, "your keyboard still in the booth?"

"Uh... yeah," you say, a little worried that he's going to tell you to pack it up before he threw it out.

"Good," he says, followed by, "meet me there in 5. For a private session."

You're too shocked to respond, and all you can manage is an awkward squeak. It doesn't really matter, though, since Murdoc looks past you and yells at 2-D and Russel, "And you two! Quit arsing around! I'm the only one who gets to rough up 2-D!"

Stoic as ever, Russel drops a bruised 2-D, who falls to the floor and lets out a shaky "Ouch."

As Murdoc walks away, you can't fight off the goosebumps that have spread across your body. Private session? Was it going to involve torture? The others look at you with confusion, not sure what their bassist had in mind, either. Well, only one way to find out... at least you'd written out your will last week, in case your plane went down.

* * *

When you enter the booth, Murdoc is reclining in one of the chairs, mostly looking cool as a cucumber, but something is brewing behind his dark eyes that you can't quite read yet. He hears you come in and turns to face you.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he snaps. "Get in. Do your stuff."

"Y-Yes sir," you say quickly, and double-time it into the soundbooth. You fumble with the door but can't seem to be able to close it.

Murdoc sighs. "Just leave it open."

"Okay," you say, and shakily walk away and to your keyboard. "U-Um, do you want me to do the same song I did earlier?"

"I don't-" he begins, then catches himself. "Er... whatever you want."

"Sure," you say, starting to realize his conduct is kind of awkward. Maybe he really is going to murder you. And the door is open. Great.

 _Well, here goes,_ you say to yourself, and begin your song from earlier again.

Murdoc watches closely, waiting impatiently for the simple melody to drop before you launch into your dance routine. And when you do... you catch some glimpses from your peripheral vision of his jaw dropping. Okay... that wasn't a bad sign, right? Slowly, he straightens his legs and leans forward onto his knees, taking in your entire performance. It kind of creeps you out, how invested he is in it now.

You try to keep an eye on him, but unfortunately, the beat sweeps you up as well. You fall into a trance, a trance from the music you wrote yourself. It is a message from your soul, reaching out and caressing every part of your body.

No, wait. Music doesn't actually feel like hands on your person.

"Ah!" you exclaim in surprise, noticing that Murdoc is missing from his seat - and is now right behind you in the booth. Like, _right_ behind you.

"No need to be so tense," he whispers gently, like a spring fawn. You didn't know he was even capable of speaking so gently. "Relax your shoulders... let your hands move freely."

Slowly, he moves his hands down your arms and to your own hands, predicting your next keystrikes and flowing with them.

You know you should be whipping around and kicking him in the budgies for how close he is to you right now without permission. But at the same time, you find his presence almost comforting, and the way he moves with you... kind of like a dance. Soon, you relax back into swaying your body, which he does as well.

"Very nice," he purrs, drinking in your passion. Your hair whips around as you shake your head to the crescendo, and he follows, as if the musical energy is flowing from your keyboard, through you, to him. It's a magical, intimate experience.

Soon, your number ends, leaving the two of you very, very close. Carefully, he slides his hands back and rests them on your waist. You allow it, surprised at his sudden change in attitude, and even more surprised at yourself - but something just feels right about it. Maybe it's the pot in the air, or the music in your ears.

"Y/N," he whispers, "I must admit... I was quite taken with your performance earlier."

"R-Really?" you ask.

"Really. I had to excuse myself because... well..." You can't see him, since he's behind you, but you can definitely hear his pointed smile in his voice. "Let's just say I had to leave quickly as a... _problem_ was _rising._ "

Your cheeks flush bright red. Did he just say what you thought he said?! "... o-oh?" you ask.

"Mm-hm," he says, and runs his right hand down your hip, and along your thigh. "Seeing you move like that... I've never seen anyone so in tune with their craft. It's... _bewitching._ "

You turn around to face him. There's a hunger in his eyes, you recognize it now. The carnal desire that drives all humans. And you can't help but mirror it in yourself.

"You think I'm... bewitching?" you ask quietly.

He's breathing hard, but he nods. "Incredibly." You look into each other's eyes, and he continues, "So, Y/N... what do you say we-"

"You're not screwing her, are you?!" cries Noodle from the door, startling both of you. You don't know this, but she does this every time Murdoc is alone with a woman, to piss him off.

And it works every time. " _Noodle!_ " Murdoc snaps, " _Get your nosy little arse out of here! We're busy!_ "

"About to get that way, I'm sure," the teen teases as she runs out of the booth before Murdoc can throw his shoe at her.

After calming down, Murdoc turns back to you and says, "As I was saying, what do you say we take a little trip to the parking garage? There's a few things behind the scenes I'd love to show you."

Thinking back to the MTV Cribs video they did, you know that Murdoc's Winnebago lives in the garage. _The love shack._ "U-Uh-huh," you say, nodding breathlessly.

He gives a wide grin, and the two of you bolt out the door and head for the stairwell.

* * *

Murdoc throws open the door to his Winnebago, allowing you to step inside first. It's dark, but he clicks on the lights, bathing the interior in red, purple, and green. There's a wall of various women on one side, and on the other, a leopard-print loveseat and the beckoning bed.

You wonder if it really is dressed in Egyptian silk. Mmm.

"Are you ready for me, love?" he asks you after shutting the door, walking up to you with an unmistakable expression of lust. "I'm... a lot of bloke to handle."

You wonder if maybe this is the worst decision you've ever made. Flying to a foreign country, alone, and winding up in a dank, dirty parking garage, being seduced by a green evil-worshiping pervert who's old enough to be your dad. Putting it in those words almost made you agree that yeah, you done fucked up, hon.

But the heat and emotions between you reassured you that no, this was one of the _best_ decisions you'd ever made.

"Don't worry," you say, "I've handled a lot of blokes."

"Experienced," he growls, smiling widely. "I like that."

He closes the gap between you with a kiss, uncharacteristically tender, as he guides you backwards and onto the loveseat. It's nice and soft, and you gladly sink into it as he moves from your lips, to your cheek, to your ear, to your neck.

You take a moment to check out the garish interior. Mostly it looks like something straight out of a stereotypical pimp's den, and that honestly kind of heightens the mood for you, though you can't really figure out why he's got a true-to-size body pillow of Fat Albert. Albert is staring at you happily from the corner of Murdoc's bed, as if asking if you brought protection while also saying you were a smart lady and that of course you could take care of yourself. You practically hear the words in your head and start to fear that the body pillow is haunted, especially since the eyes look so real, when Murdoc reaches down and massages your breast through your shirt.

"You're quiet, my dear," he says before necking you again. "I hope you're not bored."

"No, sorry," you say, tearing your eyes away from the pillow and focusing again on your minty-green lover. You tug his shirt over his head, which he happily removes completely, before unbuttoning your own shirt, revealing your lacy powder blue bra.

"Beautiful," he says, and kisses your chest, thrusting against your jeans. You can feel through his own pants that he's hard as a rock.

He lays you down on the loveseat as your lips lock again, and you moan as he presses against you. You drag your fingers up his celery-tinted back, and you just can't wait any longer.

"M... Murdoc," you whimper, "t-take your pants off."

"You first," he teases, nipping at your jaw.

" _Shit,_ " you hiss, and push him off to unzip your jeans. You wriggle them off as he watches with a devious smile on his face, and pelt them to the floor. Your panties don't match - they're purple with black lace - but he doesn't seem to care.

"Mmh, you look _delightful,_ pet," he says, running his fingers along your stomach. The feeling sends chills - good ones - along your spine, and he leans down to kiss above your navel. You gasp as he continues to kiss you, slow and steamy, all the way down to your cloaked womanhood.

"Well, what have we here?" he asks, playful, as he removes your panties, shredding them to pieces in the process. It was those cursed ragged fingernails of his. He very nearly sliced up your vulva like cold cuts.

"Shit, Murdoc," you snap at the loss of your panties, "those were Victoria's Secret - they weren't cheap."

"I'll take you for a replacement," he promises you, stroking your hip. "And while we're there, we'll pick you up a little piece for my eyes only."

Wait- did this mean he was serious? Rubbing along your thigh, he gently gives you another kiss, stimulating your senses for a split second and emptying your mind of anything else. Seeing how much you enjoyed that, he goes in for more kisses before slowly plunging himself deep inside you.

You clamp your thighs around his head, moaning loudly, and he's a little scared at first from the pressure (how was he supposed to know you did track?) but relaxes once he feels you aren't going to crush his skull. He shows you how freaky his freaky tongue can get, and when he adds two fingers to the equation, the sum is you being brought to cum, hard.

" _Aagh, Murdoc,_ " you gasp, crying out as your muscles contract around him. Grinning fiercely at your display, he continues to lick at you mercilessly through your orgasm.

You slowly come down from the rush and you're nearly spent, but he's got one more trick up his sleeve. Pulling out of you and standing up, he unzips his own trousers and drops them, revealing a thong that's the same print as the loveseat. It's barely holding his boner back, the fabric looking like it could rip at any second.

He gets on top of you and reaches around to unhook your bra. You can feel him at your entrance, stiff as stone, and feel his breath on you. In one movement, he pinches the hooks and loops together, and slips your bra away. Your itty-bitty-titties are now hanging out, and he looks like a hungry predator, ready to pounce.

"... ready for the grand finale?" he asks.

"Uh-huh," you gasp. "G-Give it to me, Murdoc."

He slips off his thong, his 5-inch trophy standing proud and at attention. You lick your lips, hungry - but not for food. This was the hunger of a different mouth - a mouth down south. He sits up and you get in his lap, nothing in the way anymore of your bare skin. You make out a little more, and he reaches down to grab your ass, admiring its round and perky shape. His isn't so bad, either.

As he kisses in your cleavage, you arrange yourself on top of his throbbing dick. It's waiting for you. It's begging for your attention. You can't wait to swallow it whole. Finally, you embrace it into the depths of your engorged pussy.

" _YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!_ " you scream into the ceiling.

"Y/N?! What's wrong?!" Murdoc asks, scared.

It hurts. It fuckin' hurts. It really _is_ hard as a rock, and has no give. Your hymen has been ripped to shreds, and you're bleeding profusely. As you pull yourself off of him, the pieces of your protective vaginal membrane fall out across his lap.

You quickly fall to the ground, your vision going dark from the pain as you hear him calling to you. "Y/N? Y/N! Hang in there - I'm driving us to hospital. Stay with me, Y/N!"

* * *

When you wake up, you're temporarily blinded by your bright white surroundings. When your eyes adjust, you can make out the band members standing around your bed, worried.

"Oh, thank God!" 2-D cries when he sees you wake completely. "We were so worried!"

"Wh... What happened..." you groggily ask.

"You passed out from the pain," Murdoc says. He looks incredibly apologetic.

"The doctors said your hymen looked like it had been run through a cheese grater," Russel said, horrified.

"What the hell were you doing?!" Noodle snapped, punching Murdoc in the arm.

"Ow!" he cried, rubbing it before snarling at her. "You better be prepared to die, you little-"

"Guys, _please,_ " you beg. You're in no mood for a brawl in your hospital room.

"R-Right," Murdoc says, blushing slightly. "Sorry."

The others look at each other, startled. They'd never heard Murdoc apologize to anyone before. Why was he suddenly behaving like he had a conscience?

"Aaanyway," 2-D began, "they said you should be able to check out in a day or so, but they want to keep you here for observation until then. It was a pretty delicate procedure to piece you back together, you know."

"Oh..." you say, looking down at your hands.

Your response doesn't escape the band's notice. "What's wrong, Y/N?" asks Noodle.

"Well... I came here to be your new keyboardist," you say, "but now I've landed myself in a hospital bed..."

"Your point being?" Murdoc asks.

You look up into the eyes of your lover. "... I'm not going to be your keyboardist, am I?"

"Who says you're not?"

Your heart skips a beat. "Wait - really?"

"You've got talent, love," Murdoc says with a smile, and then whispers, "and I don't just mean at the keys."

"You got the job!" 2-D says happily.

You sit in shock for a moment, before erupting into cheers of excitement. "Yes! I'm the keyboardist for Gorillaz! WOO!" And to think, all you had to do was wreck your vagina. Well, not just that, but it still happened.

Everyone congratulated you, before Murdoc shooed them out of your room for a little private time. "Y/N," he says, "I... I'm not normally so soft, so don't make fun of me, understand?"

"What is it?" you ask.

"I... I'm sorry about... what happened in the Winnebago," he squeaks out, genuinely ashamed. "I feel terrible that I hurt you so badly. I didn't mean to."

"It's okay, Murdoc," you say, setting your hand on his shoulder. "It was an accident. And besides," you give a mischievous smirk, "it's kinda hot that you were... _that_ excited for me."

He looks back up at you. "You really think so?"

"Hell yeah. In fact," you run your finger along his jaw, "when I get out of here, I wouldn't mind... going down for a second time."

His eyes widen, and he smiles in anticipation. "You really want to?"

"Wild monkeys couldn't drag me away," you say, before leaning forward and sharing a passionate kiss with your new bandmate.

THE END


End file.
